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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26641480">mcyt h/c oneshots!</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mushroomcow69/pseuds/mushroomcow69'>mushroomcow69</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>t's projection hurt/comfort:) [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Anxiety, Caught, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, No Romance, Panic Attack, References to Depression, not ship fic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:54:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>16,602</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26641480</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mushroomcow69/pseuds/mushroomcow69</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>a collection of little hurt/comfort oneshots!! please read all disclaimers :)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>No Romantic Relationship(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>t's projection hurt/comfort:) [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2073444</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>411</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1191</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. not a oneshot, put requests here!!!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>welcome to my diary in projection form! i dont have an upload schedule for this book or anything just whenever i write something but i hope yall enjoy:)</p><p>also no nsfw or shipping/romantic connotations for minors or any ccs that arent comfy w it. we follow boundaries religiously here smile</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Please comment literally any idea u have, if u wanna kno bout my writing style i have like 2 mediocre fics posted but i love to do hurt/<br/>
comfort type stuff etc. im happy to write about non-con but only in terms of trauma and with comfort at the end, as someone who’s been sexually assaulted im not gonna romanticize that shit but i know how much it helps to see fics written about the topic! same w suicide, self harm, mental health issues, etc:D</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. deafen (tommy&wilbur hurt/comfort)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>TRIGGER WARNING<br/>mention of past sexual assault, panic attack</p><p>im honestly very nervous about posting this, so lemme be clear. i will NEVER sexualize tommy, tubbo, etc. the sexual content in this fic is purely traumatic and referred to as such, and not something to be romanticized or written about in any way that would imply that it's okay to view minors, especially public figures such as tommy, in a sexual light. i wanted to portray tommy going through this because i'm tommy's age, and i've been through this. im really hesitant about this fic becuase i DO NOT want it to seem like i am sexualizing him, please let me know if it does and i will take it down.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tommy exhaled gently as he typed a few final clacks onto his keyboard, mouse hovering over the "Go Live" button. The blonde boy took one final breath, ruffling his hair and putting on his streaming persona.</p><p>He let himself melt into the familiar routine of covering up how he felt with loud laughter and crude jokes.</p><p>Tommyinnit is bubbly, boisterous, and virtually unphasable. Tommyinnit and Tom Smith are one and the same, but as soon as the green light flashed on Tommy's webcam, Tom Smith was buried under layer after layer of Tommyinnit. It was self preservation. Protection. If people couldn't see past his unafraid exterior, they couldn't use him for his hidden vulnerability. Vulnerability that had been shackled under metal gates and iron doors. Vulnerability that neither Tommyinnit nor Tom Smith could let anyone see ever again. Not after what had happened.</p><p>Once Tommyinnit had fully taken over, Tommy clicked the go live button and immediately painted on a huge smile, taking a chug of his coke.</p><p>"SUP CHAT!"</p><p>-----------------</p><p> </p><p>Just under an hour later, the stream was in full Dream SMP swing. Fundy and Punz stood in the center of the Vikkstar tower, punching each other relentlessly as Tommy and Wilbur tried to restore peace to the holy land.</p><p>"Gentlemen, I know you are on opposing sides but violence is never the answer!" Wilbur announced through laughter. Tommy let out a wheeze, punching Fundy towards Punz in an attempt to further the content.</p><p>"Stop being bitches guys, don't make me get out the vlog knife," Tommy yelled as he returned to his place beside Wilbur. </p><p>"I'll show you a vlog knife," Fundy mumbled before hastily placing a crafting table in front of him. His character came back to life a only few seconds later, holding a wooden sword. But a few seconds was more than enough time for Punz to sense and snatch up an opportunity for an inside joke, the grey haired avatar jumping onto the crafting table before anyone could stop him. </p><p>"Punz no!" Wilbur exclaimed as he bursted into a frustrated laughter.</p><p>Fundy jumped on the opportunity as well, walking towards Punz and rapidly shifting and un-shifting his character. Everyone in and watching the stream was fully aware of what this meant, the chat going wild as Tommy let out an exasperated groan.</p><p>"Guys come on, that is just uncalled for!" Tommy exclaimed as he shot his webcam a signature 'cringe' look.</p><p>"He wanted it!" Fundy wheezed in response. </p><p>Tommy felt his breath catch in his throat. </p><p>He tried to laugh, or at least sigh for the camera, but he was frozen in place. He felt his fingers tighten around his mouse and keyboard, hands beginning to shake.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"You wanted it."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"You said yes."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"You're just confused"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"We were both drunk"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Who do you belong to?"</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tommy's heart dropped into his stomach.</p><p>He had two choices. </p><p>One, have a panic attack right here on stream. </p><p>Two, disassociate and pray that auto pilot kicks in. </p><p>Tommy started to fade away. He felt his hands go numb, his vision blur. He detached from what was happening, just like he had done so many months ago when it happened. </p><p>There was no panic anymore.</p><p> </p><p>Unfortunately for Tommy, auto pilot had not kicked in. The blonde haired boy snapped back down to Earth as he heard Wilbur yell his name. </p><p>"You little gremlin child! I have your stream open, I know you can hear me!"</p><p>Tommy blinked a few times, the walls of his room slowly fading into place. He glanced over at his PC, realizing he had just disassociated live, in front of almost all his friends and 70k people. </p><p>His eyes darted to his chat, met with concerned comments from his viewers, who sensed something was off when the usually energetic streamer had frozen into a blank, empty stare for almost 10 minutes. </p><p>"Sorry, yeah uh," Tommy's voice came out weak and gravelly, far too similar to Tom Smith’s voice.</p><p>
  <em>Not now. Not now. Not now.</em>
</p><p>"One sec chat I gotta take a piss."</p><p>He tried to contain his growing panic as he snatched his phone off his desk and dashed out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.</p><p> </p><p>Tommy slid down the wall of his bathroom, chest heaving as tears began to fall from his eyes.</p><p>"He wanted it."</p><p>
  <em>"You wanted it."</em>
</p><p>His breath sped up, head growing lighter as he grasped for air he couldn't have. </p><p>
  <em>I'm dying. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I can't breathe. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I'm dying. </em>
</p><p>His hand dropped to the bathroom floor, frantically scanning the tile. He finally found his phone, hands shaking and vision clouded with tears, he shakily unlocked it and pressed call on the first person he could think of.</p><p>
  <em>Please pick up please pick up</em>
</p><p>"Hello?" Wilbur's voice rang out the speaker, only accelerating Tommy's already compromised breaths.</p><p>"Are you muted?" Tommy's voice was hoarse and airy, barely able to get the words out through hyperventilating gasps. </p><p>"What? No, Tommy are you-"</p><p>"Mute your stream, Will."</p><p>Wilbur shuffled on the other side of the call, clearly confused and concerned beyond anything. </p><p>"Okay, okay I'm muted Tommy what-"</p><p>Before he could help it, Tom let go. He broke into sobs, chest heaving even heavier than before as tears pooled on the hem of his shirt.</p><p>"Tommy? Tommy what's wrong," Wilbur's voice was clouded with pure panic, Tom could almost hear his brow furrowing in concern.</p><p>'Wilbur, Wilbur I can't-" Tommy gasped, hands flailing in an attempt to grasp onto any kind of comfort.</p><p>Wilbur caught on that Tommy was having a panic attack, attempting to do damage control on the uncharacteristically vulnerable child. </p><p>"Tommy, Tommy hey you're okay. Listen to my voice, Tommy."</p><p>"Wilbur, what Fundy said," Tommy paused to gasp for air, the attempt futile once again, "What Fundy said that's- that's what he said to me Wilbur."</p><p>"Tommy what? I can't- Tommy I can't understand you."</p><p>"That's what <em>he </em>said to me, Will!" Tommy couldn't help but grow frustrated as he tried desperately to explain through shallow breaths and sobs.</p><p>"What? Tommy I'm sorry I can't-" Wilbur was shrouded with confusion, barely having time to get over the shock of hearing the usually impenetrable boy break down and cry like the weight of the world had fallen on his shoulders. This was all completely new to Wilbur; the realization that Tommy had been going through enough to send him into a panic attack of this size, and that he had presumably been going through it all right under Will's nose, just behind his cheery exterior.</p><p>"What- what did Fundy say Tommy?"</p><p>Tommy froze. Wilbur wasn't dumb, and sure Tommy's judgment was clouded with panic, but he knew that if he said this, Wilbur would be able to figure out what had happened. He wouldn't be Tommyinnit anymore. If he said this, Wilbur would get to speak to Tom Smith. Yet, Tommy ached to tell someone. His heart churned in his chest, pinching in on itself. He wanted to shout it from the rooftops. Tom Smith scratched violently at his insides, begging to come out. Begging to remember. Begging to be comforted.</p><p>Tommy dropped the last trace of his facade, his voice coming out quiet and soft, almost an unrecognizable demeanor, a completely different person from the Tommyinnit Wilbur knew.</p><p>"That he wanted it."</p><p> </p><p>"...Tommy?" </p><p>"He said that I wanted it, Wilbur."</p><p>Wilbur's breath caught in his throat as tears began to well in his eyes. The brunette glanced at his PC, quickly realizing that while he had muted himself, he had forgotten to turn his facecam off. His chat crowded with concerned messages, all the viewers had been watching the conversation happen with no sound. They had no idea what Wilbur was talking about, but they'd have to be blind to miss the absolute terror in his eyes. </p><p>He quickly jumped to turn his facecam off before returning his attention to his phone as a tear fell from his eye.</p><p>"Tommy I.."</p><p>"He said that I wanted it, and he made me say I was his. I don't want to be his, Wilbur. Will I always be his?"</p><p>Wilbur's hand clasped over his mouth as his tears started to flow more frequently.</p><p>"No. No Tommy, no. You're not his." Wilbur wanted so badly to sound strong for what was basically his little brother, but his voice shook as he realized he was hearing Tommy, truly Tommy, for the first time, and that if Tommy could hide something <em>this massive</em>, the other truly had no idea what else the teenager may have been through.</p><p>"You're not his, Tommy."</p><p> </p><p>Tom felt relief rush through his body, every weight and every sleepless night drifting away as he let the truth come out.</p><p>"I've lied, Wilbur. I'm not who you think I am."</p><p>:I know, Tommy. It's okay. I think I may know you better than you realize."</p><p>At this, Tommy smiled weakly. </p><p>"You don't have to hide around me, Tommy. I won't tell anyone."</p><p>The blonde exhaled shakily, Wilbur's words piercing through him like a knife to the heart.</p><p>'Okay, Wilbur," Tom Smith responded. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>this was slightly triggering to write but i hope its good enough regardless, please comment it helps alot n keeps me motivated if u wanna see more fics:)</p><p>if any of you are dealing with sexual assault, know youre not alone. I know how it feels. to feel like youre never safe even though its long over, to still feel them on you when there's nothing there. listen to me when i say this. you are safe. and im so sorry you had to go through that. we'll get through it together &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. sleeves (tommy hurt/comfort)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>TRIGGER WARNING </p><p>self harm, descriptions of self harm scars, depressive thoughts, graphic depiction of a panic attack! pls be careful&lt;3</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tommy had a few rules he followed whenever he streamed, rules that were <em>never</em> to be broken.</p><p>1. Always wear the red and white T-shirt.</p><p>2. Always drink your coke.</p><p>3. Never show your arms.</p><p>It wasn't an issue for Tommy not to show his arms, nor was it a big deal. He had been doing it for years. This was just how he lived. He thought nothing of the scars on his wrists; they were just a part of him. It didn't hurt him to look at them, It didn't make him sad to think about them. They were just there. He deserved the scars, he deserved to be defaced and marked up, so why would he care that he was? </p><p>Still, Tommy knew that the scars weren't socially acceptable, and as much as he refused to see them as 'taboo', the thought of someone knowing what he did made him want to never talk to anyone again. So, rule 3. It was probably the easiest rule to follow; his arms rested at his keyboard almost all stream. The only threat was when he stood up to throw out his empty coke can, and he always made sure to angle his wrist away from the camera. Hiding it was honestly a reflex at this point, as ingrained in him as typing in his passcode or looking both ways before crossing the street.</p><p>He found that he didn't really think actively about hiding his wrists anymore, his body would just do it automatically. </p><p>Which is why he wasn't thinking about it when he was fighting Dream on the SMP, at the crux of his stream plot line. Tommy was fully in roleplay mode now, screaming curses and ignoring his chat. </p><p>"Dream you son of a bitch I'll kill you," Tommy hissed, frantically clicking his keyboard.</p><p>"You have <em>nothing</em> Tommy, I have your stream open!" Dream laughed, voice light and airy.</p><p>"You stream-sniping dick Dream, have I ever told you how much you suck?!"</p><p>Tommy switched to his iron sword, the word 'knife' flashing across the bottom of his screen. He took a deep breath before screaming in true Tommyinnit fashion, lunging at dream and spamming his mouse relentlessly. </p><p>"Tommy! <em>Tommy! </em>" Dream shrieked in surprise, not even having enough time to switch to his sword before white particles filled Tommy's screen and a message flashed across the left of his monitor.</p><p>
  <em>Dream was slain by Tommyinnit</em>
</p><p>"YES!" Tommy was slamming his fists into his desk, eyes going wide as he basked in the glory. </p><p>'I killed Dream!"</p><p>Tommy let out a screeching laugh, and suddenly he was leaning back in his chair, throwing his arms in the air in victory. He put his hands into a fist, shaking his wrists beside his head as he cheered.</p><p>A sharp inhale sounded through his headphones, and he smiled even harder at Dream's obvious disappointment. </p><p>"Oh you suck so bad Dream if I were you I would never play minecraft again-" Tommy began rambling, leaning back towards his desk and clicking his space bar.</p><p>Dream didn't respond, causing Tommy to break into another fit of laughter.</p><p>'You can't ignore the truth, Dream!"</p><p>Dream still didn't respond. Tommy furrowed his eyebrows at this and glanced over at where Dream had died, seeing that his character hadn't even respawned yet.</p><p>"Dream?"</p><p>After a few seconds, Dream's voice came through Tommy's headphones, meeker than the blonde had ever head Dream speak.</p><p>"Tommy... Tommy uh- can you check discord?"</p><p>Tommy shook his head in confusion before tabbing out of minecraft to click on the other man's icon.</p><p><em>'Tommy what's on your arms'</em> </p><p>The younger boy's eyebrows furrowed further at the cryptic message, before his eyes flew open and he sharply gasped.</p><p>He swallowed heavily as he turned to look at his second monitor, his chat flying faster than it had since the war stream.</p><p>Tommy desperately tried make out enough of the messages flying across, only being able to read maybe one word at a time before the sentence was gone from his screen.</p><p>'cuts?'</p><p>'wrists'</p><p>'okay?'</p><p>Oh shit. </p><p>Tommy felt his breath catch as he scrambled for something, anything to say.</p><p>"Uh- I," </p><p>He had fucked it now. He was careless and stupid, and he'd broken rule 3. </p><p>"Chat I have to go," he managed to blurt out, clicking on the 'end stream' button before the sentence was even over.</p><p>His hands flew away from his keyboard, resting on his forehead as he leaned back in his chair. His eyes were wide, his mouth ajar as he pushed his hair back and breathed heavily. What did he just do.</p><p>'Fuck."</p><p>The word left his lips, breaking the dam as he realized what had just happened. Suddenly he was panting, chest rising and heaving as the hands over his forehead began to shake.</p><p>"Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck."</p><p>His vision was blurry now, lips chapped as he gasped for breath only to lose it twice as quickly.</p><p>"Fu-uck."</p><p>This one was broken, interrupted by a choked sob as he dropped his head to his chest. Tommy began to cry, violently spitting air he didn't even have, heaving and gasping as tears fell off his chin and pooled at his collarbone.</p><p>"...Tommy?"</p><p>The blonde's head snapped up at the sound in his headphones, realizing all too late that he hadn't left the discord call.</p><p>He tried desperately to say something, the attempt futile as he gasped shallowly. </p><p>"Dream I- You- I didn't know-" The words came out weak and incoherent as his breath sped up even more. The blonde rushed to leave the call, his blurred vision and shaking hands making it that much more difficult to even locate the right button.</p><p>"Tommy! Tommy wait-Tommy it's okay," Dream was rambling frantically, desperately trying to stop the younger boy from leaving.</p><p>Tommy dropped his head into his hands, his elbows resting on his desk as he tried desperately to breathe.</p><p>He wasn't even thinking about Dream anymore, practically having forgotten the man was there as his lungs began to burn and his shirt soaked with tears. </p><p>A familiar chime sounded, barely registering in Tommy's mind as he hyperventilated.</p><p>"Tommy?" A deep british voice sounded, harsh and concerned. </p><p>"I- he's having a panic attack, I think," Dream sounded scared, having never seen Tommy anywhere close to emotionally vulnerable. Tommy's harsh gasps confirmed his statement, his breath growing heavier with every second.</p><p>Wilbur immediately jumped into action, having been present during one of Tommy's panic attacks once before, many months ago.</p><p>"Tom listen to my voice. Just listen okay. Just hear my voice Tom," his voice was strong and authoritarian, hiding his panic much better than Dream managed to.</p><p>Tommy let out a choked sob, enough confirmation that he knew Wilbur was there.</p><p>"Good. Good Tom. Tom listen to me. Take one breath. Can you take one breath for me, Tom?"</p><p>A sharp gasp sounded through the call, still shallow and desperate but stronger than the others. </p><p>"You're doing amazing Tom. Give me one more breath."</p><p>Another gasp echoed, this one even stronger. </p><p>"Good. Can you talk to me, Tom?"</p><p>Tommy choked out a breath, continuing to sob as his breath gradually slowed. </p><p>"Will- Will they all know- Will I broke the rule, they all-" Tommy was gasping again, dropping his head further into his hands.</p><p>"What? Tommy I don't know what you mean, I saw you ended early and wanted to make sure you were alright."</p><p>Tommy clearly wasn't going to respond, continuing to hyperventilate as he leaned back in his chair again.</p><p>"He uh," Dream's voice was panicked and weak, "He was streaming and he put his arms up and- and uh..."</p><p>Wilbur sighed heavily. </p><p>"And they saw his cuts."</p><p>"Y-yeah," Dream was taken aback by the immediate recognition in Wilbur voice. He wondered what else could have been going on right under his nose; it was obvious that Wilbur was familiar with the topic and with Tommy's struggles, this realization jarring and shocking to Dream, who had never even heard the boy speak a serious sentence.</p><p>"Tommy it's okay. You're gonna get through this."</p><p>"No Will, they all saw, I can't..." Tommy trailed off, devolving into sobs again.</p><p>Wilbur went silent for a second before speaking up again,  voice calculated and calm. "Hey Tommy, did I tell you what happened to me today?"</p><p>Tommy knew damn well what Wilbur was trying to do and he refused to listen, choking out another sob and dropping his head into his hands.</p><p>"I went to get a coffee, and all my old mates were at the shop."</p><p>Wilbur was speaking slowly and calmly, as if there wasn't a boy having a panic attack right in front of him.</p><p>"They tried to say hi to me, and Tommy you know how I am with people," Wilbur interrupted himself with a chuckle, obviously fake but convincing nonetheless, "So I didn't know what the fuck to do and I just grabbed my phone and pretended to be talking to someone.</p><p>Tommy's breath had slowed considerably, the heaving now tired and heavy.</p><p>"So I was going the whole 9 yards, saying fake sentences and laughing and shit, and then I realized I had been holding my phone the wrong way round, and they could all see my completely empty home screen the whole time."</p><p>To his own surprise, Tommy let out a huff of air, a weak giggle at the absurdity of the story. </p><p>Both Wilbur and Dream audibly sighed in relief.</p><p>"There he is," Wilbur spoke, voice kind and gentle.</p><p>"Welcome back, Tommy." Dream's voice was light as he chuckled earnestly. </p><p>"Hi," The blonde's voice was weak and gravelly. "Dream I uh, I'm sorry you had to see me like that."</p><p>'Please don't apologize Tommy, you didn't do anything wrong."</p><p>"Yeah- I, uh," Tommy was still gasping, now in recovery instead of panic, "I didn't mean for anyone to find out about.. you know,"</p><p>"No one is judging you, Tommy," Dream was gentle and patient, his voice like a comforting stroke on the back.</p><p>"Tom you should go get some biscuits."</p><p>Wilbur, ever the expert on how to help the younger boy, was braving a calm, reasoning voice.</p><p>Tommy chuckled weakly.</p><p>"Yeah, okay Will. I'll go get some biscuits."</p><p>The boy sniffled as he placed his headphones on his desk and stepped out of the room, the two men waiting patiently for him to return.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>this shitty as hell but tis 3 am anyway sorry havent posted anythingin a while but here have this vent that is exactly the same as the last chapter! can u tell i project onto tommy! pls comment it makes me feel warm and fuzzy:) thats all im very tired goodbye&lt;3</p><p>holy shit i say as alot why am i lik this</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. lightheaded (tommy hurt/comfort)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>me posting another literally identical fic about tommy dealing with sa? itsmore likely than you think.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TRIGGER WARNING- mention of sexual assault, malnourishment, depiction of naseau (how do i spell)  and lightheadedness(no actual vomiting), fainting</p><p>hi im back! this has been happening to me lately and it sucks so i thought id write about it </p><p>NOTE: i am not and will never sexualize tommy in any shape or form. The sexual content in this fic is only traumatic, and will only be reffered to as such.it will never be graphically described, only referenced in terms of recovery and mental state. i will never sexualize, ship, or do anything tommy isn't okay with. ever. &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Tommy you good?"</p><p>Phil's voice seemed to echo through Tommy's headset, far away and muffled as his head began to spin. He meant to answer, but it slipped his mind, his thoughts seeming to spiral slowly around his head, a new one spinning to the forefront before he could grab the last.</p><p>He knew this feeling all too well, he just didn't want it to happen now.</p><p>Not now, not on call with his friends.</p><p>But he also knew that once it started there was really no stopping it, once the first gust of air slipped through his grasp it would only get worse, a snowball building as it cascades down a hill.</p><p>First comes the bout of dizzyness, the same as when you stand up too quickly, only lasting for a second.</p><p>Then it would be over, fading with a chuckle and a mirage of relief, only to slip back into the shadows of his mind a few minutes later.</p><p>After the short bouts would come the lightheadedness, his head spinning in on itself, his eyes clouding.</p><p>Then his ears would start to ring, always low pitched and always accompanied by more dizzyness.</p><p>Then was his least favorite part.</p><p>Then came the nausea, sneaking in the back door like a wave at high tide, building slowly until you don't even realize it's all too much bigger than you can handle. The nausea was the last stage, after that it was all five stages coming together like superheroes in a shitty Marvel crossover. His eyes would go blurry with blots of black, his ears drowning in the same low tone, his head spinning and spit gathering at his tongue as he tried to keep it down.</p><p>It was the exact kind of thing that would hit you in the middle of math class when you were young, that sudden dizzyness that came on without a warning, just enough to get you picked up early but not enough to still feel sick in the car ride home.</p><p>Tommy remembers he used to get those whenever he got overwhelmed, whenever his ten-year old brain couldn't handle all the information. He always felt guilty, like he was doing something wrong, like he was faking sick to get out of school, when really it was just his body forcing him to stop. To take a break, for both of their sakes.</p><p>Tommy knows how to fight it now.</p><p>It used to be a last resort, his body having so much that it forces him to shut down, a metaphorical slap to the face and an angry 'hey I exist too!'</p><p>Now it was more of a plea for help, a sad beg for him to stop, that his body knew he wouldn't listen to.</p><p>He supposed it wasn't really the same as when he was younger, though. Now maybe it has more to do with losing control of his body than being overwhelmed, more to do with having to sit while things happen to you and just wait for it to end, more to do with some sick need in him to feel that again, the sick innate need his body seemed to have to relive the worst moment of his life.</p><p>Tommy couldn't feel that he was falling backwards, the feeling indecipherable from his dizzyness, the perpetual loop of falling in a dream and waking up right before you hit the ground.</p><p>Not now, not now.</p><p>The blonde boy hit the ground with a sizeable thump, the room plunged into a second of confused silence.</p><p>"...Was that Tommy?" Wilbur's voice erupted from the headset, breaking the silence.</p><p>"..Tommy?" Phil.</p><p>"Did he die or something?" Techno.</p><p>The call fell into silence for a second more, all the boys waiting with baited breath for the blonde's loud voice to return, probably with a screech of a laugh or a curse.</p><p>Nothing.</p><p>"Tommy are you alright?" Phil again.</p><p>"Tommy seriously bro this isn't funny," Will's voice grew deeper, concern starting to seep in.</p><p>"...Wait I was joking about him dying," Techno's voice edged on concern now too, the air far too silent for a call with TommyInnit.</p><p>"Tommy get up mate this isn't funny," Phil, ever the guardian of peace, kept his voice level, not jumping to conclusions.</p><p>Silence.</p><p>. "..What do we do?"</p><p>"He's probably pranking us just give it a second."</p><p>"No it's too quiet, he's never this quiet."</p><p>Tommy woke to hushed mumbles coming from his headset, still sat askew on his ears even though he was now laying on the ground.</p><p>It took him a second to open his eyes and slowly sit up, the voices, he assumed a video he had been watching, going quiet at the light shuffling of his clothing.</p><p>He sighed heavily, head still spinning, as he realized what had happened.</p><p>"Fuck," he exhaled, bringing his palms to his head, "fucking again?"</p><p>He sat up further and took a few breaths, more than well versed in how to come down from an episode. It had been happening ever since he heard the song they listened to together, the dizzyness returning every day without fail, <em>his</em> way of haunting him even after it was long over.</p><p>Once Tommy caught his breath a little more he dropped his head back into his hands, sighing shallowly.</p><p>He wanted to be angry, he was angry, deep down, but he was so tired. So tired of feeling physically ill from just remembering. So tired of never being able to get closure, of never being able to tell anyone why he couldn't read or hear the words "I'm yours" without breaking into hyperventilation. So tired of this boy he trusted still having control of his body, long after his hands have left it. As if his hands didn't do enough damage in the first place.</p><p>"Fuck you, Alex. Fuck you."</p><p>His voice was muffled and dejected, exhausted from never being able to escape the memory of what happened.</p><p>"Tommy?" Wilbur's voice sounded hesitantly through his headset, like the older man knew he heard something he shouldn't have. </p><p>Tommy's breath caught as he froze, as if not moving would make Wilbur forget he was in the call.</p><p>"Tommy are you alright?" Shit, Phil's there too?</p><p>"We know you're awake now bud." Fucking Techno as well? </p><p>He exhaled shakily, reluctantly clearing his throat. </p><p>"Hi boys."</p><p>"Tommy are you okay??" </p><p>"Yeah Big T I'm fine."</p><p>Wilbur cut in, turning protective and concerned, a side of Will Tommy knew all too well.</p><p>"No you're not Tommy, you just fucking fainted."</p><p>Tommy sighed, running his hands through his hair. He opted not to respond, like if he opened his mouth the truth would come pouring out.</p><p>Phil was the first to break the silence.</p><p>"How long has this been happening, Tommy? You said 'fucking again'. How long have you been fainting?"</p><p>Tommy's head was still full of fog, his words barely registering before they came out of his mouth.</p><p>"Since it happened. It's just whenever I think about him."</p><p>The call fell silent. </p><p>"Since what happened?"</p><p>Tommy's breath caught at this as he realized what he had said, the gasp not going unnoticed by the others in the call. He didn't answer. He couldn't answer, they couldn't know. </p><p>He just sat, his heart speeding up, staring at the floor as if he had just been caught writing on the desk in third grade.</p><p>"Tommy, who's Alex?"</p><p>At this his heart dropped. He felt his breath stop, his tongue falling into his stomach. </p><p>His hands shook, an uncomfortable midpoint between sweaty and numb, as he felt tears start to well in his eyes. </p><p>"No."</p><p>He barely got the word out, his voice only kicking in halfway through. Even then it was weak, shaky, feeble. The others could tell they had stumbled upon something rooted deep within the younger boy, something so hidden and awful that 'no' was the only word he could force out.</p><p>There was something unsettling about the way he said no, like he was begging. Like he was broken, pleading with them not to hurt him. They weren't going to hurt him of course, but he seemed to think they were, or to be remembering when someone did.</p><p>There was far more weight in the boy's feeble 'no' than just someone wanting to avoid a touchy subject. It was almost like they weren't the one he was saying no to, like he was remembering a time when he had to say the world that desperately, his tone almost a broken last cry for help.</p><p>All three older boys inhaled sharply at hearing Tommy this broken, this desperate. It was like they had uprooted something buried deep inside him, far deeper than he had ever let them see, far deeper than they  could imagine, the topic buried under old boxes and behind picture frames, hidden as if the boy would die if anyone found it.</p><p>"Who's Alex, Tommy?"</p><p>"No. No, no, no, no," Tommy was crying now, gasping for breath, pleading as if he was dying, as if his closest friends were hurting him in a way they couldn't even imagine.</p><p>"Tommy no it's okay, we're not gonna hurt you."</p><p>The younger boy just repeated the word like a mantra, like a final prayer, his voice shaking and sound muffling as if he was desperately trying to escape someone.</p><p>"Tommy listen to me it's okay, it's just us!"</p><p>They could tell Tommy couldn't even hear them, still muttering frantically, voice cracking with every syllable.</p><p>"Please please please. Please stop please-"</p><p>"TOMMY!" </p><p>Techno spoke for the first time since the boy woke up, yelling so loud the call was plunged into a deafening silence. </p><p>The silence, almost an echo of Techno's yell, was ended by a soft, broken whimper, so quiet they barely heard it.</p><p>"Tommy," Techno's voice was fully gentle now, every molecule of concern and fear and love dripping from it.</p><p>"Techno?"</p><p>Wilbur spoke up now, breathless and shellshocked. </p><p>"Tommy it's just us."</p><p>"Wilbur," Tommy's voice broke halfway through the man's name, collapsing into relief.</p><p>God knows what he had been remembering, but all three of them knew it was something Tommy never meant to see the light of day.</p><p>"Tommy did.. did Alex do something to you?" Phil's voice was fragile, the words coming out as if the boy might break at the wrong syllable.</p><p>Tommy scoffed, sighing deeply before speaking up, voice low and dejected. </p><p>"Yeah. Yeah Phil, he did."</p><p>Wilbur's voice was just as cautious, as if he was walking on a thin sheet of ice with a freezing river below it. "Tommy what did-"</p><p>"You know what, Will. You know what he did."</p><p>All three men seemed to catch on, Techno's voice coming out soft and fragile, practically begging for his assumption to be wrong.</p><p>"He.."</p><p>"Yes. Yes he did."</p><p>Wilbur's breath caught in his throat, his voice cracking as he realized what they had accidentally unearthed.</p><p>"Oh, Tommy..."</p><p>All four of them went silent, the older men shocked, trying to gather their emotions.</p><p>Techno was the first to speak up, voice breathless and laced with protective venom.</p><p>"I... I'm pretty sure I could kill someone right now."</p><p>Tommy scoffed half heartedly, chuckling at the man's response.</p><p>"That... is the most on brand reaction I've ever seen."</p><p>Wilbur spoke up next, the most concerned and brotherly Tommy had ever heard him, "Tommy you could've told us, you didn't have to deal with that alone. We would've helped you."</p><p>"I know, Big Dubs," he chuckled roughly, "I wasn't really planning on anyone finding out, ever." </p><p>"How long were you regularly fainting from trauma, Toms? Why did you hide it?" Phil almost whispered, his usually piercing voice nothing but gentle and loving. </p><p>"It's been a while. I, uh, I'm used to it by now."</p><p>"Jesus Christ, Tommy!" Wilbur exclaimed, voice laced with fear. </p><p>The call fell into silence again for a second, Techno hesitantly speaking up.</p><p>"Tommy I uh, I'm not good with emotions, but uh, I will kill anyone who hurts you. Anyone."</p><p>Tommy chuckled again, this one lighter than the last. "I know Techno, I know."</p><p>"You're gonna be okay, Tommy. We're gonna get you through this."</p><p>"Thank you, Phil."</p><p>"You're safe with us, Tommy. We'll help you get rid of him."</p><p>That was the last straw, Wilbur's low caring voice saying the exact words the blonde had been needing to hear for so long. He started crying, finally giving into the incessant begging of his body, letting his guard down and crying. </p><p>And they let him. </p><p>And they comforted him, hushed affirmations and whispers constantly flowing through his headset. </p><p>And they sat with him all night, some of it in silence, some of it listening to Tommy finally say what had happened as they cried at the thought of their little brother hurting so deeply, some of it talking to Tommy, telling hushed stories they wouldn't remember in the morning as the blonde yawned and interjected tiredly.</p><p>And when Tommy woke up, he didn't feel dizzy anymore.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>spoiler alert i literally hate everything i write</p><p>has anyone who's been assaulted had this experience?? ive just been getting dizzy and nauseas every time i think about what happened, is this a thing any of yall have been through? </p><p>anyway please please comment they make me feel warm and fuzzy and wanna keep writing, know that you're all safe, see u soon&lt;3</p><p>JUST REALIZED BIG Q'S NAME IS ALEX THIS IS NOT ABOUT BIG Q THE PERPETRATOR WAS SOMEONE FROM HIS SCHOOL</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. drunk drivers (tommy hurt/comfort)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>tommy meets up with the rest of sbi, and finds he can't hide everything</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>IMPORTANT: this is a song chapter, please please please listen to drunk drivers/killer whales by car seat headrest while reading this chap, its super important and would mean alot:)!</p><p>TRIGGER WARNING: self harm, burning as self harm, graphically depicted self harm (no cutting)</p><p>i have returned! here's a lil suprise upload, i dont usually update this frequently but hope yall enjoy&lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tommy sits on his bed, leaning against a pile of pillows as music fills his ears. The thing Tommy loves about the night was that his parents slept like bears, snoring through screams and earthquakes and car horns. When it turned 1 AM, it was time for Tommy to turn off all the lights in his room and crank his volume as high as it would go. He listened to music far into the night, sometimes crying, sometimes screaming along, sometimes just sitting, numb. </p><p>The song currently playing bounced against the walls of his room, the darkness seeming to louden the echo of deafening emptiness.</p><p>
  <em>In the back seat of my heart</em>
</p><p>
  <em>My love tells me I'm a mess.</em>
</p><p>Tommy glances to his side, barely able to see his nightstand through the thick layer of night that surrounded him. He manages to make out a familiar shape, clutching his fingers around the lighter and pulling it towards his chest. </p><p>He flips the lighter in his fingers, like a pen in an all too boring tutoring session. Over time Tommy had become well versed in the object, the weight, the feel, the mechanics, how long it takes to heat up, how long it will last before he has to figure out a way to smuggle a new one. </p><p>
  <em>It comes and goes in plateaus</em>
</p><p>
  <em>One month later I'm a fuckin pro.</em>
</p><p>Once satisfied with his fidgeting, he flips the lighter a final time before setting his thumb over the coil, gently flicking it on. </p><p>The fire blooms immediately, blue and red and swaying with the still air in his room.</p><p>It's always beautiful to him, seeing the fire. It isn't connected to anything, isn't tethered to anything. It moves with the wind, but not as a unit. Just as a substance, almost a brighter variation of the air around him.</p><p>He gazes into the flame, feeling the metal coil start to heat up under his thumb.</p><p>
  <em>We're just trying, I'm only trying to get home</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Drunk drivers, drunk drivers.</em>
</p><p>After the flame has burned for about a minute, Tommy flicks the lighter off and takes a deep breath. </p><p>
  <em>This is not a good thing</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I don't mean to rationalize it.</em>
</p><p>He grips onto the lighter and presses it against the skin of his wrist, the burn making him flinch. He feels the heat against him bite at his skin, starting as an angry sting and fading into a warm ache. After the burn has receded into a small heat, Tommy begins to turn the lighter, making sure every inch of the burning metal meets his skin, wincing through a bitter smile. </p><p>
  <em>It's not okay</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Drunk drivers, drunk drivers.</em>
</p><p>Tommy wakes to a loud alarm and a familiar sting on his wrist. He blindly grasps for his phone, eyes going wide as he realized what day it was. </p><p>He was meeting up with them today. </p><p>He had completely forgotten, having not at all taken the time to emotionally prepare or develop a plan of keeping his online persona up in real life.</p><p>Fuck.</p><p>Tommy reluctantly swung his legs over the side of the bed, standing up and stumbling over to his dresser. </p><p>He glanced in the mirror, seeing his astray hair and tired eyes, almost perpetually red and swollen. </p><p>There were so many things they didn't know, so many things the blonde could hide over video call and discord rooms that he couldn't hide in person.</p><p>He throws a hoodie over a t-shirt, pulling on some jeans before walking to his bathroom.</p><p>
  <em>It's too late to articulate it </em>
</p><p>
  <em>That empty feeling.</em>
</p><p>Tommy's heart thumps in his chest as he walks to the door of Wilbur's building, waving a faux excited goodbye to his dad before pausing in front of the metal door. </p><p>
  <em>You share the same fate as the people you hate</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You build yourself up against others' feelings.</em>
</p><p>Fuck it.</p><p>He rings the bell. </p><p>
  <em>And it left you feeling empty as a car coasting downhill</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I have become such a negative person.</em>
</p><p>Tommy sits on the floor of Wilbur's living room, Phil on the couch above him and Techno cross-legged next to him. It wasn't as bad as he thought; if they saw the emptiness in his eyes or the shaking of his hands, they didn't mention it, which he was greatful for.</p><p>There was one problem though, Wilbur's flat was hot as hell. </p><p>Said man turned the corner of the kitchen, stepping into the living room, armed with two steaming mugs. </p><p>Tommy continued to think as Will handed him his hot chocolate.</p><p>The mug burns his hand. </p><p>He can't stop himself from smiling at the feeling.</p><p>
  <em>It was all just an act</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It was all so easily stripped away. </em>
</p><p>Wilbur offers to play some music, Tommy immediately jumping in with a request.</p><p>They didn't need to know what he did to the song just last night.</p><p>
  <em>We are not a proud race</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It's not a race at all.</em>
</p><p>He sips the hot chocolate, reveling in the sharp sting that slides down his throat. </p><p>"Tommy that's hot!"</p><p>Tommy can't help but chuckle at Wilbur's panicked warning.</p><p>"What the hell Tommy, how did that not burn you," Techno was looking at him, eyebrows curled upwards as he blew cautiously into his mug.</p><p>Tommy just shrugs, grasping for the last of the heat as it, regretfully, fades into a calm warmth. </p><p>He glances around the room, and, seeing no one was looking directly at him, slyly slid his hand around, pressing the mug to his clothed wrist. </p><p>It didn't burn the way it usually did, the way he liked it, but it would have to do for tonight.</p><p>
  <em>We're just trying, I'm only trying to get home</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Drunk drivers, drunk drivers.</em>
</p><p>Soon he begins to sweat, a combination of the humid Brighton air, his thick sweatshirt, and the warm mug pressed against it. </p><p>He knows he can't take his hoodie off, but he also knows he hates feeling warm. </p><p>It's just on the edge of heat, almost painful but falling short into uncomfortableness. He would much rather feel the painful burn than sit in the stagnant heat. </p><p>He can hide his wrist. Just keep it facing inwards. </p><p>He can do this.</p><p>He slips his sweater over his head, tossing it to the side.</p><p>
  <em>Put it out of your mind</em>
</p><p><em>And perish the</em> <em>thought.</em></p><p>He glances around again, finding his friends had begun to dance to the song he put on. </p><p>A smile slid onto Tommy's face as he stood up to dance with them, making sure to keep his wrist facing inwards.</p><p>Wilbur smiles at the sight of Tommy joining in, and grabs the boy's wrist to pull him closer.</p><p>Before Tommy can stop himself, he winces loudly at the sharp touch against his raw skin. </p><p>Wilbur pauses, face falling into confusion before flipping Tommy's arm over to look at his wrist. </p><p>He inhales sharply at the sight, dark spots canvassing Tommy's light skin, ranging from old scars to welts and scabs. </p><p>"Tommy?"</p><p>The song is building in the background, guitar crescendoing. </p><p>"Don't tell the other's, Will?" It's basically a question, Tommy's voice shaking with vulnerability.</p><p>Wilbur pauses, mouth open, before glancing into his psuedo-brother's eyes and nodding. </p><p>Tommy sighs in relief, barely able to get the breath out before he's pulled into a harsh hug, his face against the soft fabric of Wilbur's shirt.</p><p>He breathes in the comforting scent, closing his eyes and smiling into the paternal gesture. </p><p>The song finally builds around him, drums exploding as the singing fills his ears.</p><p>
  <em>It doesn't have to be like this.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It doesn't have to be like this.</em>
</p><p>Wilbur pulls back, putting his hands on Tommy's shoulders and looking him in the eyes. </p><p>"Dance with me, Tommy."</p><p>Tommy chuckles, glancing into the older's eyes before conceding, stepping back with a sigh. </p><p>With a final glance and a cheeky smile, the two boys are flailing chaotically, screaming lyrics that Wilbur doesn't even know.</p><p>
  <em>It doesn't have to be like this</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Killer whales, killer whales.</em>
</p><p>With his hair in front of his eyes, his vision blurring, and his head spinning from the jumping, Tommy really hears the lyrics for the first time.</p><p>
  <em>It doesn't have to be like this.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It doesn't have to be like this.</em>
</p><p>Through the blur of a living room he manages to make out Wilbur, still flailing alongside him, and now Techno and Phil, who had joined in and were jumping around aimlessly to the music. </p><p>Tommy smiles.</p><p>
  <em>It doesn't have to be like this</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Killer whales, killer whales.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i really really hate this chapter so i honestly might delete it in the morning i just think its really shitty lol. anyway i really do b relapsing after making it a year clean pogchamp. as always please please comment, it makes me feel oh so warm n fuzzy n y'alls sweet comments are honestly the only things keeping me motivated to write, knowing im helping people&lt;3. take care of yourselves, loves. see u soon!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. and we're gonna watch up (tommy sbi hurt/comfort)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Tommy is having a really rough time, and finally breaks</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TRIGGER WARNING: description of adhd, mention of medication, mention of adderall, description of depression, insinuated non-con/sa, mention of v*miting, description of events following non-con/sa, very brief mention of alchohol, description of panic attack</p><p>DISCLAIMER: i will NEVER sexualize, romatacize, or do anything tommy is uncomfortable with. the content in this fic and this series is purely traumatic, and will only be reffered to and described as such. if any of the creators i write about every state they're uncomfortable with this kind of writing, all my work will be taken down immediately. the most important thing to me is being respectful to the creators, while still helping people going through these things. please dont bring up or insinuate any topics tommy is uncomfortable with in the comments, that shit is off limits here.&lt;3</p><p>IM BACK! so i decided im probably going to make the tommy oneshots some sort of continuous au which is why this is a continuation of the last fic and like connects to the other fics. if i do ones that aren't in this specific plot ill specify in the notes, but for now i guess the tommy ones are some sort of ongoing fic? idk whatever, i literally didn't even read over this after i wrote it so its probably VERY shitty im sorry in advance. enjoy loves&lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tommy woke to the gentle nagging of his mom and the rattling of a pill bottle. He sat up reluctantly, too tired to even fight for more sleep. Wishing his mom a gruff ‘good morning’, he took the small plastic bottle from her outstretched hand, hesitating before downing the two pills with a sip of day-old water. He hated taking his meds first thing in the morning; his throat was dry and most times the taste of water was enough to make him nauseous. He hated that he couldn’t have one second of being unmedicated, he hated that if someone asked who he was without the meds, he wouldn’t have an answer. He hated that he hadn’t seen himself, the true himself in so many months that he couldn’t even remember what his voice sounded like. He hated that he spent every single waking moment in his own insufferable skin, and yet the concept of who the fuck he really is was grey and foggy, like a video game character you haven’t accessed yet or a song that you can only remember one line of.<br/>
He felt the capsules slide down his throat, fighting with an unagreeable scrape against the sides. He finally got them down, exhaling airily and flopping back into his pillow.<br/>
He had college today, he knew that. But it wasn’t real college, just online classes. He hadn’t filled out attendance or actually been to a class in weeks, and there was no point in starting now. He could do the work later.<br/>
He knows he won’t.<br/>
He flips over with a sigh, digging his face into his pillow and falling asleep.<br/>
Falling asleep isn’t a relief anymore, it isn’t something enjoyable for him.<br/>
It’s just easier than being awake.<br/>
------<br/>
He slowly woke up a few hours later, no longer able to force his body into the blissful unconsciousness.<br/>
He brought his head up with a heavy sigh, grabbing his phone and squinting at the brightness, immediately bombarded with an onslaught of notifications. Scrolling through quickly, he skimmed over the important ones; a few from discord about today’s stream, about twenty from google classroom which he promptly ignored, and two texts from his closest school friend, the only person that had ever managed to get past his hard exterior over the course of middle school.<br/>
“can u pls come to geo we have a group project”<br/>
“alex isn’t here.”<br/>
He hadn’t been expecting to see that name so quickly after waking up, the four letters sending a wave of shock down his spine. He instinctively dropped his phone, inhaling sharply.<br/>
Victor was the only person who knew what really happened with Alex, the full story. Of course, Tommy would rather no one knew, but Victor was the person who’s house he’d shown up at crying after it happened.<br/>
Tommy cringed every time he thought about it; that there was someone who’d seen him that vulnerable. No facade, no TommyInnit to hide behind. Just Tom, shivering and crying on a porch in the middle of the night. He cringed every time he thought about how Victor had to take him in and lend him clothes to wear because his were dirtied and thrown on haphazardly, and he couldn’t bear to have them touching his skin anymore.<br/>
Tommy cringed every time he thought about how Victor had to hold him as he emptied his stomach into the toilet, the taste of vodka and betrayal sticking to him like duct tape, seeping into his stomach, polluting his veins and perfuming his skin.<br/>
Coming back to reality with a shiver, Tommy picked up his phone and rushed a text back.<br/>
“sorry was sleeping. i’ll do my part later, promise”<br/>
He knew he wouldn’t do his part later.<br/>
He can tell himself he’ll get it done as much as he wants, and if he pretends to believe it then his brain will think he does, but he hadn’t done work in weeks.<br/>
Tommy knew very well how to trick his brain into believing something. If he just keeps saying he’ll do it later, his brain will believe him. Deep down, beneath the pounds of pretending and the thick, goopy layers of medically induced indifference, he’ll know he’s lying. To himself, to everyone around him. He’ll know he’s too far gone to just ‘do it later’. He’ll know that he had jumped into the deep end and let his body sink, telling himself that he’ll eventually swim back up as the water darkened around him. He’ll know that once you’re under too deep, the water becomes too heavy to ever swim back up. He’ll know that if he lets himself sink for long enough, all there will be left to do is drown.<br/>
But his brain won’t know.<br/>
Tommy was jolted back to Earth by the shrill screech of his stream alarm. Sighing sharply, he rubbed his eyes and dragged himself into the bathroom to get ready.<br/>
------<br/>
Tommy sat in his chair, the voices of his friends swirling around him, no more than muffled murmurs. Somewhere between the thick fog encompassing his brain and the words that were going through his ears but meaning nothing, he distantly realized he had forgotten to take his adderall.<br/>
It was too late now; all he could do was try to act normal and get the stream over with.<br/>
He sat for another thirty minutes, uncharacteristically silent, barely scraping by without his viewers worrying by spewing some bullshit about ‘being up late editing’, before finally ending the stream.<br/>
The second the end stream button was pressed, the atmosphere around him fell flat with a shatter. His friends dropped their online personas instantly, instead donning deep concern. They knew Tommy, and, as much as he tried to hide it, they knew when he was upset. With the exception of Will, who, to Tommy’s chagrin, had become the exception, they had only seen Tommy break down once. It was a few months ago, when the younger boy had fainted on call, accidentally letting things slip when his emotional gates had temporarily fallen.<br/>
Despite how hard the blonde tried to cover it up with every ounce of his being, they knew that he had been through something. They knew the boy wasn’t the untouchable jokester he painted himself as, they knew deep down he was hurting so desperately and not letting himself feel it.<br/>
“Tommy what’s going on,” Wilbur was the one to break the silence, skipping straight to the point. While Will didn’t know much about Tommy’s past, he knew significantly more than the others, probably the only person who knew a fraction of what Victor knew.<br/>
“Nothing, Will.”<br/>
“Tommy, what’s going on,” Wilbur repeated, voice dropping.<br/>
Tommy let out an exasperated sigh, throwing his arms up in frustration.<br/>
“I just didn’t take my adderall okay, I’m fine!”<br/>
Phil was the next to speak, voice soft, “Tom you can talk to us mate.”<br/>
“There’s nothing to talk about! I’m fine!”<br/>
The call grew quiet, the three boys considering how to go about helping the guarded and aggressive teen.<br/>
Techno was the one to finally break the silence, having remembered something from the time Tommy fainted.<br/>
“Is it Alex?”<br/>
A heavy silence fell over the call, fragile and foreboding.<br/>
Tommy finally let out a sob, gasping sharply. The three sat in stunned silence for a second before immediately jumping into action, attempting to soothe the boy with gentle whispers and reassurances.<br/>
Tommy’s breathing grew heavier, strangled sobs falling from his mouth as he shattered into a thousand pieces. He had finally looked up, had finally seen the miles and miles of water above him, had finally felt the weight on his shoulders and the burn in his lungs. He had finally tried to swim up, flailing his arms and trying to scream, powerless against the tide that he had sat and watched himself fall victim to.<br/>
He had finally let his brain realize, had finally tried to save himself, only to realize he was too late. That he had let himself sink too far.<br/>
That all there was left to do is drown.<br/>
Unless someone saved him.<br/>
Wilbur took control, being the most experienced in Tommy’s panic attacks, well versed in what the boy needed.<br/>
“It’s okay, Toms. You’re safe. I promise you’re safe.”<br/>
The words registered very distantly in Tommy’s brain, calming him without his realizing.<br/>
“You don’t have to listen, Toms. Just hear me. Just hear my voice. You’re not dying, you’re not lost. You’re here, and we’re here, and we’re talking to you, and you can hear us.”<br/>
The other two stepped back, letting Wilbur take the younger boy out of crisis mode, as he seemed to know how to better than they did.<br/>
“Just keep hearing. You don’t have to think about it, you don’t have to respond. Just keep hearing me.”<br/>
Tommy’s breath had slowed, no longer hyperventilating, now just crying, sobs so broken the other’s could’ve sworn they felt their hearts break.<br/>
“Will… I’m- I-” Tommy was stuttering, trying to force something out through sobs.<br/>
The words finally came out, a shattered cry of desperation.<br/>
“I’m so fucking tired, Will.”<br/>
All three boys felt their hearts break into a million pieces.<br/>
“I know, Tommy. I know.”<br/>
Phil finally spoke again, the fatherly tone of his voice indescribably comforting, “We’re gonna take a break today, okay Tommy?”<br/>
“What?” Tommy breathed, his voice still fragile and small.<br/>
“We’re gonna sit on call, you’re gonna get in bed, and we’re gonna take a break-”<br/>
“And we’re gonna watch Up!” Techno butted in, voice uncharacteristically high with excitement. Phil chuckled sharply as Will made a noise of enthusiastic agreement.<br/>
“-And we’re gonna watch Up,” Phil finished.<br/>
The call fell silent again, the three waiting with baited breath, praying that Tommy would let down his guard just this once. So they could help the boy they cared so deeply about, the boy who had trapped himself in a prison of self-defense.<br/>
“Can we have popcorn?”<br/>
The call collapsed into relieved sighs, Will breaking into breathy laughter.<br/>
“Yes Tommy, of course we can have popcorn.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>im actually kinda proud of the first half of this fic, the second half devolves into my usual shitty comfort tropes but this is 100% just an absolute vent so idk, as always please comment they make me very very happy and motivated to write again, ive actually been feeling kinda weird about writing lately so anything would be appreciated, i love seeing y'alls sweet words as always im here for you all&lt;333 take care of yourselves </p><p>(also i prob have a dnf oneshot coming sometime this week just letting yall knowowww)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. anger. (tommy hurt/comfort)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>tommy's on a call when he gets an unexpected (and unwelcome) visitor.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hello babes! this chapter is pretty fuckin dumb plot and continuity wise but i just had to write someone fucking screaming at their assaulter bc i cant lol, may delete in the am</p><p>TRIGGER WARNING: implied/described sa, panic attack, this chapter has the assaulter physically present and a convo with them!!!!</p><p>same disclaimer as always, i will never ever ever sexualize or romanticize tommy or any cc's who aren't comfortable with it; the sexual content in this fic is purely traumatic and will only be reffered to as such and in terms of recovery. it will never be graphically described so if ur looking for some fucked up smut you've come to the wrong place, also, get therapy. RESPECT CC'S!!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tommy spun his chair around, his excessively long headset chord twisting around the wheels.</p><p>"Okay but what about this one," Wilbur was giggling excitedly, "Said 'just killed a woman, feeling good' to the judge. I don't think she got the reference.'"</p><p>Tommy immediately burst into violent laughter, the all too familiar sound drowning out everyone else's voices.</p><p>"That is an awful tweet," Techno mumbled flatly, once Tommy had calmed down enough to be heard.</p><p>"That is a 100k-er Techno don't even try that shit with me," Wilbur retorted, laughing airily through his words.</p><p>Tommy was still recovering, shaking his head softly and giggling when a screech resounded through his house, making him jump aggressively.</p><p>"Boys," The blonde's voice dropped to a playful whisper, "There is someone at my door. The parents are out. Do I answer it?"</p><p>"Get the fucking door already," Phil laughed, his fatherly head shake almost audible.</p><p>Tommy dropped his headphones on his chair and stood up, "If I die it was Philza Minecraft," he yelled as he slipped out of his room, throwing the door closed behind him.</p><p>Tommy skipped down the stairs, a soft smile on his face, head light from laughing. He instinctively turned the lock, pulling the front door open before looking up from his feet, eyes gliding from the floor to the shoes in front of him.</p><p>Oh.</p><p>Tommy's thoughts fell flat with a thud, his eyes going wide and breath catching. He felt the air leave his body, an invisible force punching him square in the gut. He felt the color drain from his face, floating out the open door in a flurry of smoke. He felt rum stumble down his throat, felt the burn in his stomach. He felt the dizzyness, he felt the hands on his skin, he felt the weight on him, he felt the bruise he woke up with the morning after.</p><p>He felt the piercing blue eyes on him as he came back to reality. He felt his throat go dry in a second, he felt every trace of composure spill out of his sides, because there he was. With his blonde hair and his pale skin and his perfect eyelashes. He was right there.</p><p>"What are you doing here," Tommy tried to ignore how his eyes still wouldn't move, how his voice wavered, all the power stripped from it in a second.</p><p>"I wanted to see you," and there was his fucking voice, clear as day, "we haven't talked in too long."</p><p>"You know damn well," Tommy's words shook, "why we haven't talked."</p><p>"Yeah," Alex rubbed his hand along the back of his neck, "Listen, I know that whole situation was confusing for you."</p><p>Tommy scoffed lightly, the first time he felt his body actually move since seeing him standing there, "Confusing?"</p><p>"Confusing," Alex continued, "listen Toms, we were both drunk. Let's just forget about it? I miss you."</p><p>"Don't fucking call me that," Tommy whispered, finally feeling his body come back to life. He prepared for the anxiety, for the rush of nausea, for his legs to give out.</p><p>It never came.</p><p>Instead he felt heat spread up his chest, rage boiling in his stomach, snaking its way to his hands, to his fingers, and finally, to his mouth.</p><p>"We were not <em>both</em> <em>drunk</em>," he spat, voice low and shaking as he tried to contain the words threatening to overflow from his mouth. </p><p>"Yeah we were," Alex laughed lightly, throwing his hand to the side like it was a light subject, "Besides, Toms, you said yes."</p><p>Tommy froze at the words coming out of the other's mouth, eyes going wide. He felt his hands shake, he felt the rope inside him quiver, fraying with every syllable. He felt it finally break. </p><p>"I couldn't fucking stand up, Alex," he snapped, words like venom. His eyes narrowed as he drew his fists tighter beside him, "I couldn't fucking stand up, and you think I said yes?!"</p><p>"I-" Alex started, taken aback by Tommy's sudden break.</p><p>Tommy didn't let him finish, seething as he jumped back into action, "I just fucking laid there. I couldn't even form a sentence, and you think I said yes?!" he was on the edge of yelling now, every ounce of self restraint flying out the door with his color and breath. </p><p>Alex opened his mouth to speak again, cut off as soon as he did.</p><p>"I can't sleep in my bed anymore, I can't listen to music any more, and you have the fucking <em>nerve</em> to look me in the eye and tell me I said yes?" Tommy was yelling now, the floodgates open and the tsunami set loose. </p><p>"I bet you barely think about it. I bet you don't even think of me until you see my name on twitter or youtube and feel a <em>little</em> pang of sadness. I bet you don't even feel guilty. I bet you live your life normally, and you make new friends, and you get drunk, and you barely even think about it," he couldn't stop, spitting the words at the boy like they were on fire, voice growing louder with every flame. </p><p>"Tommy of course I think about you-" Alex was far too calm, voice laced with pity. <em>Fucking</em> <em>pity</em>.</p><p>"Oh, really," Tommy scoffed loudly, "That must be fucking awesome, I can't even think about you without fucking <em>fainting</em>."</p><p>Alex's mouth was dropped open, wordlessly taken aback. </p><p>"Toms," he exclaimed, voice dripping with honey, waiting for tommy to reach out and get stuck. </p><p>Tommy knew better now.</p><p>"Don't <em>fucking</em> call me that," he felt the rage bubble and pop, somehow ever hotter than it was before. He felt his body shake and go red, like a tea kettle far past done. He felt the heat float to his mouth, the faint whistle growing louder and louder until there was nothing to do but shout over it. </p><p>"You dumb motherfucker, I <em>trusted</em> <em>you</em>!" Tommy screamed, the kettle finally overheating, the boiling hot bubbles finally spilling over the sides.</p><p>Tommy's hands were moving forward, and before he knew it there was a slam and he was staring at the back of his front door.</p><p>His chest heaved. </p><p>He blinked. </p><p>Numbly he walked up the stairs and into his room, finally sliding down the back of his door and inhaling sharply. </p><p>What the fuck just happened?</p><p>He blinked a few more times, bringing his hands to his hair and raking through it absentmindedly.</p><p>"Holy shit."</p><p>His mouth fell open with the realization of what he had done. </p><p>"<em>Holy</em> <em>shit</em>," he breathed again, breaking into a smile. </p><p>"Holy shit!" He yelled, laughing loudly. </p><p>A muffled noise came from his chair, and the realization that he was still on call came crashing down on him. </p><p>He scrambled forward, grabbing the headphones and throwing them on, hoping his friends couldn't hear. </p><p>"Hi guys," he mumbled nervously, voice asking an unspoken question.</p><p>The call fell into a stunned silence for a moment before Wilbur's voice rang out, making Tommy jump.</p><p>"Holy shit, Tommy."</p><p>the other two sounded noises of agreement as Tommy sighed. </p><p>"So I guess you could hear me?"</p><p>"You <em>were</em> screaming, Tommy," Techno responded, smile audible in his voice despite his usual sarcastic nature. </p><p>"Tommy, was that.." Phil asked, voice light with shock. </p><p>"Yeah," Tommy breathed, "Yeah it was."</p><p>The call fell silent again, for longer now.</p><p>And then Wilbur was screaming.</p><p>"YOU FUCKING DESTROYED HIM."</p><p>With this the call devolved into a mess of yells, Tommy laughing breathily as he tried to make out the overlapping voices. </p><p>"You <em>definitely</em> got the last laugh there, mate," Phil exclaimed, laughing, pride more than evident in his voice. </p><p>"Let me tell you Tommy, I have never been more scared of a child than I am right now. You are terrifying. That was insane," Techno's monotonous voice made Tommy begin to laugh again, swiping his hands along his forehead and sighing loudly. </p><p>"Holy shit," the blonde mumbled, still processing the entire interaction. </p><p>He was silent for a second before exhaling sharply, voice breaking into the hugest smile. </p><p>"Holy shit!" he yelled, laughing sharply. "I fucking did it!" </p><p>"You sure as hell did, Toms," Wilbur yelled in response matching if not exceeding Tommy's pride. </p><p>"I," Phil started breathlessly, "am so fucking proud of you."</p><p>Techno jumped in, the most outwardly happy Tommy had heard the man, "Yeah, that was pretty fucking insane."</p><p>Tommy just laughed again, feeling his air come back and the weight lift off his shoulders. </p><p>"Holy shit."</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i did not proofread literally at all i wrote and then said fuck it this is literally awful i just needed an excuse to write out my fantasy rant LOL. as always pls pls comment it makes me wanna keep writing and i love seeing all of your comments more than you could ever know&lt;3. see u next time sorry for this shitty filler</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. i want to feel more than just sorry for myself.(tommy+will h/c)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>once again me projecting onto tommy what else is new</p><p>also title is from notches by crywank that shit is in my head and for what</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>me? sticking to a tense? when technoblade dies ammiright</p><p>hi me again welcome back to my shitty projection drabbles. in case you haven't noticed, this book is where i put things that i dont actually try on, so it's never like, good writing lol. literally just diary entries that yall enjoy for some reason? pog? but yeah this is very much just me very specifically projecting onto tommy once again.</p><p>i love you all and im sorry, i dont actually know what for i just felt like saying that (it's 4 am leave me alone)&lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tommy wasn't always able to cry on command. </p><p>In fact, he remembers watching movies as a child and feeling jealous. He'd watch the actors cry and wouldn't even be thinking about the plot; he'd just sit on the couch and squint his eyes as hard as he could until they were sore. And he never could get it, he never could make tears fall. He didn't want to be an actor or anything, he just was born with a need for attention, the urge to do something special weaved hastily throughout his veins. </p><p>If he could go back in time, he'd humble the small boy with the mess of blonde hair and wide blue eyes. </p><p>There's some attention that isn't worth having. </p><p>It started in middle school, he supposes he evolved to accommodate the world around him. The wide eyed boy with blonde hair jumped at every bit of attention he got, reveling in the feeling of being <em>someone's special</em>. So, he would attach quick and trust easy, and would get hurt, over and over, the blue chipping from his eyes piece by piece. He supposes they drained so gradually that he didn't notice until the small boy with the mess of blonde hair had tired, grey eyes.</p><p>With every chip of blue that peeled from his eyes like paint on a forgotten house, so did a piece of his emotions, chipping and fluttering onto the sidewalk. </p><p>So, over the years, Tommy had begun to gain the ability to cry on command. With every piece of trust broken came a tear that he could summon, the connection to his emotions slipping through his fingertips. </p><p>But Tommy was still that boy, he may have grey eyes and a larger body, but he still had that mess of blonde hair and that deep, innate need to be noticed. No matter how many times it left him crumpled on the floor, he needed to be validated. And so he'd pick himself up, bandage his wounds, and believe that this time would be different. He'd let himself be beaten to a pulp and left lying there, and would wipe the dirt off his knees and give a weak smile when the next person approached, cracking their knuckles. </p><p>He'd frequent a bench on a cliff. The bench would move one inch closer to the edge every time he sat, and he didn't notice until he'd already fallen. </p><p>So when Alex came along, miles away from the bench the wide eyed boy with blonde hair sat on, he didn't even see the marks in the dirt and the pebbles cascading off the ledge. He saw another person he could be special to, another chance to prove that he was different, another glint of attention to scramble for. Didn't see the red flags until it was too late, until he couldn't see them through the spinning room and the face above his. </p><p>There's some attention that isn't worth having. </p><p>After Alex, Tommy found that he could cry on command. Easily, he just had to think about crying and there'd be tears running down his cheeks. Maybe it was a little skewed that he cried when he was bored, because it was fun to imagine he still cared enough to do so. It was comforting to know that he could, hypothetically still cry, even if nothing could make him do it genuinely anymore. </p><p>The tiny boy with blonde hair and blue eyes would be pleased, he's sure, that he finally got that party trick he couldn't get down. That he had another way to grasp at attention like straws, holding onto it like water slipping through the spaces in between his fingers. </p><p>Since attention as a form of validation, to say the least, didn't work out for him, he turned to work. If he was constantly doing something, putting something into the world, he could justify the surplus he takes. If he could affect people around him, somehow, maybe it would cancel out the singed ruins he seemed to leave in his wake. </p><p>And selfishly, if he was putting work into the world, he could hope people would see it, and like it, and validate it. He still craved attention with every fiber of his being, an involuntary childish need, desperate and deluded. </p><p>So, the bench continued to inch along, and if Tommy wasn't constantly doing <em>something </em>worth noticing, he wasn't pulling his weight in the world. He wasn't justifying his stay. </p><p>Vaguely, Tommy wonders if he'll ever be happy with anything he does. </p><p>Now he sits at his desk at 3 AM, headphones askew, eyes sunk into his skull. A soft, familiar voice floats by his ears, clogged and fogged over by lack of sleep and the months and months without one break. He couldn't take a break. If he wasn't doing something, worrying about something, being there for someone, he was burning a hole in the Earth, sinking past its surface and bringing down everyone else. </p><p>"Tommy I can practically <em>hear </em>how tired you are, we can finish this in the morning," Wilbur's voice is kind and well meaning, as always, but Wilbur didn't <em>need </em>to justify his existence. Wilbur couldn't get it.</p><p>"No, have to finish," Tommy yawns, "Don't deserve to sleep until I finish."</p><p>Silence follows the statement, Tommy too exhausted to realize that's not a normal thing to say. </p><p>"What?"</p><p>"If I finish this," Tommy continues unfiltered by sleep, "I've done enough to justify sleeping."</p><p>The sheer confusion was almost tangible, a paper thin blanket settling over the call. </p><p>"What do you mean, <em>justify sleeping</em>?" Wilbur's brow is definitely furrowing, "Tommy, you can sleep no matter what you do."</p><p>Tommy sighs, "No yeah, I know I can, but I don't <em>deserve to </em>until I finish this. Otherwise i'm not putting more into the world than I'm taking."</p><p>"I'm not following."</p><p>Tommy exhales heavily, shifting in his seat before resigning to explain his logic (which really should be crystal clear, it's not that hard to understand). "I need to be worth the time I spend. Either I need to be helping people, or I need to be working on something. I need to be doing something that exists beyond me or I'm not justifying my existence, because I was born with the selfish need for attention, and I'm not a good enough person to deserve it."</p><p>Tommy freezes, realizing that in his haze he'd let slip his entire world view, a view he vaguely knew was not widely accepted.</p><p>"Thats not-" Wilbur suddenly spoke gently, as if a switch had been flipped in his demeanor, "That's not true, Tommy."</p><p>Tommy couldn't help but grow frustrated; this was how the world works and Wilbur was acting like it wasn't. "Yes it is."</p><p>"No," the older leaned into his microphone, "I don't know <em>who</em> told you that's how this works, but it isn't."</p><p>Tommy huffed, sitting back in his chair. </p><p>"Tommy, you are justifying your existence by existing. You don't need to prove that you <em>deserve to</em>, you meet the bare minimum requirements every day just by staying alive. Anything else you do is just, like, extra credit," Wilbur was obviously trying to speak to Tommy's need for material accomplishments, using school terms and technicalities. It didn't slip by unnoticed, but it was kind of cute, Tommy supposed, that he knows how the blonde thinks and was trying to appeal to his logic. </p><p>"Listen to me Toms, nothing <em>makes you</em> worth living. Not attention, not success; you are worth living because you live. And that's all anyone can ask from you. Go to sleep."</p><p>"Okay."</p><p>Tommy smiles. </p><p>"Goodnight, Wilbur."</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>one of these days ill write something good for yall i promise. </p><p>as always please comment, i crave attention and validation to feel worth existing (surprise!)</p><p>but for real, any feedback makes me especially just how yall are doing or how u feel abt the fic n shit:)))) this whole thing is probably very nonsensical and unfiltered, its like 4 am and i just got a really ouchie piercing so i am like drunk on paina nd tiredness ok bye</p><p>love yall see u sooooooooon</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. don't care.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>tommy internalizes his numbness until it overflows. luckily wilbur's there to help.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hi loves im back on my projection bullshit </p><p>i wrote this in like an hr so this chapter is very very shitty and i did not read it after i finished but things are so awful right now and i wanted to post something quickly in case anyone needs it and i could possibly help a bit:) </p><p>also, ya'll already know this but i haven't said it in a few chapters so reminder: i will never do anything any cc has voiced uncomfortability with, and if that is voiced all my work will be taken down immediately. the most important thing to me is respecting cc's because they're not just cc's for our entertainment, they're fucking people and i think alot of people forget that sometimes. </p><p>TRIGGER WARNING: voiced suicidal ideation, graphic description of a panic attack, described depersonalization and depression!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tommy’s head hurts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s not in any pain, per se, but his head hurts all the same. It’s a little binder clip pinching right on a nerve, too tiny to find but too blunt to ignore. It’s as if the clip burst the nerve, sending thick fog seeping to every corner of his mind. Each thought has to weave through an impenetrable , opaque sea of smoke, and so far none have succeeded. Images spiral around his brain like suitcases on a conveyor belt, and when he tries to grasp at them they turn to smoke between his fingers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy is, for lack of a better word, so fucking tired. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kind of tired that can’t be fixed by sleeping, or taking a few days off, or having a good cry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kind of tired that can’t be fixed by anything in his life he could <em>do</em>, because being alive is what’s tiring him. Every breath he takes feels infinitely exhausting, and doing anything to try to fix it only makes it worse because he’s <em>still alive</em> as he does it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy can’t bring himself to care anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s funny, really, he used to care far too much. He would feel every emotion so strongly that it would wrack his entire body, consume his mind for days on end. He would let every tiny thing destroy him from the inside out because he just <em>felt so strongly</em> and <em>cared so much</em>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But every time he cared for something, every time he let something make him feel, he would only end up bruised on the ground. He found that caring about things did <em>nothing</em>. He learned through trial and error that any sort of vulnerability would only end in pain; that any chink in his armor served only to make him easier to kill. He’d leave his arms exposed, so he could hold someone’s hand, and it had only gotten him stabbed in the wrist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a certain amount of times caring only to be knocked to the ground, Tommy realized it’s safer not to care. It’s safer not to feel, not to leave any break in the armor. He wouldn’t be able to hold anyone’s hand, but no one can hurt him if he’s covered in metal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As passionately Tommy had thrown himself into caring, he did the same for not caring. He soon found himself utterly numb, drifting through his days like smoke that hadn’t cleared yet. You could tell him<em> anything</em>, and he wouldn’t care. He’d put a self-preservative ban on caring, and it did more harm than good, but that was okay because he <em>didn’t care</em>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But you can only be numb for so long before growing cold. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You can only wear armor for so long before it begins to weigh on your shoulders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The art of not caring had seeped into other aspects of his life like slimy black tar, the things he allowed himself to care about soon falling victim. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy doesn’t care about <em>anything</em> anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t streamed in weeks, hadn’t uploaded in months, hadn’t been in a call and spoken more than one word in weeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And sure, Tommy has a responsibility. This is his job, this is his livelihood, this is his life. But he doesn’t care. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It hadn’t taken long for his plethora of paternal figures to step in, Wilbur being the first and most persistent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tommy, this is your job,” He’d said, “You can’t just disappear without a word.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy had only nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now Tommy sits at his desk, chair bent to fit his shape, fingers raw from picking at the cuticles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tommy,” Wilbur’s voice bleeds from his headphones, echoing around his blank mind, “You have to get a hold of this, man.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy nods. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know what’s going on, but you<em> can’t</em> just drop everything like this. There are consequences, Tommy, and you have responsibilities, you- you have a life you <em>have to live</em>. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That’s the problem, Wilbur. I don’t want this life.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> Tommy nods. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please say <em>something</em>, I don’t know if this is teenage angst or something, and that’s totally normal, but you know better than to be this immature.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy hums and nods. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seriously,” Wilbur exasperates. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy hums again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tommy,” Wilbur snaps, “Fucking say something!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence hangs heavy in the air. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno,” Tommy mumbles dismissively. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that’s it for Wilbur, who thinks Tommy is just ignoring him out of spite, for shits and giggles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck do you mean, you <em>don’t know</em>? I know shit’s rough, but you’re not the only person relying on yourself! You can’t just abandon every single responsibility you have when <em>you feel like it</em>,"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy shakes his head, feeling the beginnings of rage begin to pop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At the very least, talk to me, Tommy! You know I’m here for you no matter what,” Wilbur grows louder, “But you can’t be this irresponsible and- and childish!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s hands begin to shake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t just <em>slack off</em>,” Wilbur exclaims with fiery finality before being sharply cut off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I<em> don’t care, Wilbur</em>,” Tommy snaps, voice hoarse, words cracking. Wilbur falls into a stunned silence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I <em>don’t care</em>! About anything! I don’t care, and I don’t feel bad about it. I don’t <em>feel</em> anything but fucking tired.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His voice collapses weakly at the last word, and something begins to force its way through the fog, through the armor, piercing his self preservation; a tiny pinprick of complete, utter devastation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy begins to cry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His nose stings, and his eyes begin overflowing, tears falling down his face as though they’ve been building behind a dam for months, and there’s something beautiful about it. Something about <em>finally</em> feeling something that makes him cry even more until he’s gasping for air and the neck of his t-shirt is soaked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I,” Tommy brokenly swallows a clumsy sob, “I don’t-” He gasps sharply, the air stinging his throat as he hyperventilates. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I <em>don’t want to be alive anymore</em>, Wilbur,” He finally chokes out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can hear Wilbur’s sharp inhale, hears the way it breaks weakly midway through. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Wilbur asks breathlessly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m <em>so tired</em>, and nothing matters anymore and I-” Tommy interrupts himself with a hiccuping gasp, “I don’t care, <em>I can’t</em> care and I- I...” He stutters blindly, weak attempts at expression fading into sobs and flimsy breaths.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tommy,” Wilbur breathes, shock wracking his voice, “You should’ve- you could’ve said something, I could’ve helped-” The older man takes a shaky deep breath, collecting himself before continuing with a calmer tone, “Tommy it’s okay. It’s okay to feel like this. It’s okay to feel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy only continues to cry, choking on wet sobs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I get it, okay? Not feeling anything, not caring about anything, it’s- it’s self preservation, protection and-” He lets out another shaky breath, clearly still trying to compose himself for his pseudo brother, “I get it, okay? I do.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy gulps down a louder sob, serving to show Wilbur that he’s /at least/ listening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you can’t- You have to let yourself feel. You have to let yourself cry, like you are right now, you can’t- you can’t internalize everything because it all builds up so quickly and I,” His voice breaks, “I can’t lose you, Tommy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy gasps weakly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s selfish, I know, but it’s the truth. I need you, we need you, you fuckin- you weasled your way into our hearts and I swear to god if anything happens to you I will-” muffled sounds flow through Tommy’s headphones, “I can’t stand hearing you like this, I can’t stand that you were <em>hurting</em> and I didn’t notice, I- ” Wilbur inhales sharply, “I love you, Tommy. You’re my brother.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy lets out a weak, wet laugh, breath slowed considerably. He feels something bubble in his chest, kettle whistling shrilly, sharp, unbridled <em>care</em> rushing through him for the first time in months, as if the dam had been snapped in half. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you too, Will.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>remember when i first started posting fics n would end the notes w "i have everything i write pogchamp"? still stands. stillhate everything i write pogchamp. </p><p>comments really would mean the world, interacting w people on this site makes me very happy and keeps motivates me to like, keep writing lol. </p><p>ALSO!!!!! ive been stalking mcyt author twitter for like a good month and was getting some serious fomo so i said fuck it and made an account. follow me @mushroomcow69 if u like my writing at all and would want updates or anything&lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. i can't sleep, i dont want to see her.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>sleep deprivation catches up with tommy at the worst time, and wilbur doesn't know what to do</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>alright so uhhhhh i actually havent slept in like a few days so this one is genuinly very very badly written, i apologize i feel like im letting u guys down this is just abysmal quality LOL. but uhhhhhhhhhhhh yeah im delirious dude hi guys:)))))</p><p>trigger warning: implied/referenced non-con, flashbacks</p><p>REEEEMINDDDERRRRR i will never ever ever ever do antything any creator is uncomfortable with, sexualize tommy or disrpect his wishes in any way. ever. respecting creators is the most imporatnt thing to me ever and im just not a dick so yeah thats all can you tell i havent slept by my dspelling am i spelling things right</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The best way to describe Tommy’s current appearance is akin to the <em>Addams Family</em> ensemble. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s amusing, to him, the way his eyes sink in, the way the shadows under his eyes have stretched down to his cheeks, the way his skin seems to grow paler with every breath. He’s had his fair share of sitting in the bathroom, staring into the mirror. Like if he glares at himself enough, he’ll become okay. Like if he picks at his forehead and numbly pats his jaw enough, his wilting skin will morph into normality.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s futile, is the conclusion he’s so graciously come to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No matter how much he prods at his skin, it won’t melt into something he likes. No matter how much he stares blankly into his lamp, he won’t be able to cry. And no matter how long he stays awake, he won’t stop dreaming. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s the root of the problem, really, he <em>can’t stop</em> dreaming. There was a time when sleep was his escape, when he’d shove his face into the pillows and force himself into the darkness because it was <em>easier than being awake</em>. Looking back, Tommy’d taken it for granted. He’d slept for hours on end, he’d sigh with relief when the sun went down, when he could finally have a break.  He’d close his eyes without the fear of what sits behind them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy doesn’t get breaks anymore. He’d say every waking moment is exhausting, but it’s not just the waking moments. It’s the moments at six AM, when the sun comes up and he finally surrenders to sleep, only to find <em>him</em> waiting just behind his eyelids. Sitting patiently, awaiting the moment Tommy closes his eyes, the moment he lets his guard down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy has become obsessed with being in control. Every sensation, every touch has to be on his terms. He’s seen what happens when you’re robbed control of your body, when you lose autonomy, and he’ll <em>never</em> let it happen again. At all costs, by any means, he will never lose control again. <em>Sleeping</em> is the monarch of lost control. You can’t control what you dream of, you can’t control how your body moves, and you can’t make sure no one is near you if your eyes are closed. You can’t defend yourself if you’re unconscious. He’d learned that one the hard way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The issue is, there’s only so long you can go without sleeping. There’s only so long you can hold your spine straight before it crumbles. There’s only so long you can stall the darkness before it grows impatient. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, inevitably, Tommy falls asleep. Never for long, and never soundly. <em>He</em> makes sure of that. <em>He’s</em> found his place waiting, silent and sinister, weaving by the shadows of consciousness, ducking behind the corners of exhaustion. And when Tommy lets his eyes close, when he’s reluctantly surrendered to the sobs of his tired eyes, <em>he’s</em> there waiting, rubbing his hands together with a sly smirk. Every night is a new trial, a new torture method. Some nights he wakes up with the sting of a knife in his back, some nights the ghost of a body on top of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the weeks leading up to the meetup, Tommy had made sure he was <em>in control</em>. He’d developed a plan, a bootcamp for being normal. A strict sleep schedule, a strict rehearsal of tight lipped smiles, booming laughter, of making sure no one can tell he’s prying his eyes apart to keep them open. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Turns out, changing a sleep schedule isn’t easy, especially with demons lurking behind your headrest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So now, Tommy sits on Wilbur’s couch, familiar voices melting and muffling around him, in a pissing contest between his fear and his eyelids. Objectively, now is <em>not</em> the best time for shit to hit the fan, for his spine to crumble and drop everything resting on it. Actually, it’s the worst time. But, as Tommy knows far too well, you can’t control your body, especially when it’s running on three hours of tormented ‘sleep’. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he’d never admit this, but sitting next to Wilbur is the safest he’s felt in a while. He tries to shove it down, to grasp blindly at the ropes of his iron walls, but they fall anyway. To Tommy’s chagrin, he feels safe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And even more to Tommy’s chagrin, he’s falling asleep. He’s sitting next to Wilbur, head sinking into his shoulder, and his iron-clad grip on his eyelids have been washed away in the gray water of Brighton Beach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tries his absolute hardest to stay awake, but he’s too far gone, meeting all too familiar sharp blue eyes as his flutter closed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span><em>He’s</em> waiting. Of course he’s waiting, he’s always waiting. And he wastes no time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur, admittedly, is taken aback at just how quiet Tommy is in real life. He isn’t <em>really</em> quiet, by any means, but a notable step down from the familiar discord call, twitch gremlin Tommyinnit. The boy is much more relaxed than Wilbur ever could’ve imagined, more than content to sit in silence as scroll through twitter on the couch. Will thought he’d be spending every second trying to summon energy, trying to keep the personified <em>ball</em> of energy entertained, but he seemed almost concerningly content with the silence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur’s concern only grows when he feels Tommy’s phone bounce against his thigh, the boy’s head falling into Will’s shoulder. It’s heartwarming, enough to make a grown man cry, but <em>so very</em> unlike Tommyinnit. Quickly, Wilbur realizes that <em>the</em> screeching, caffeine-infused Tommyinnit has fallen asleep on his shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pure, saccharine love spikes through the concern, warming his chest as he cautiously tilts his head to glance down at his pseudo-brother. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then he starts to move. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s almost invisible at first, the twitch of a finger, the furrow of an eyebrow, but within a matter of seconds Tommy is practically quivering, arms flying to his chest as if to /protect himself/. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The warm appreciation fades, deep, searing worry flying into its place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur doesn’t know what to do. It’s obvious the boy is having a serious nightmare, but Tommy has never once shown vulnerability, to the point that Will had doubted he even <em>has </em>vulnerability at all. Not only does Wilbur have absolutely no idea what’s going on, he knows Tommy would <em>hate</em> that he’s even present for it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Additionally, Wilbur’s learned the hard way that touching someone during a nightmare, nine times out of ten, does <em>not go well</em>. The last thing he wants to do is startle tommy, or get a teenage fist in his gut. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy begins to talk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They start as imperceptible murmurs, clouding the older with foggy confusion. The boy’s arm twitches again, accompanied by a muffled whine, and Will snaps his head down, eyebrows knitted in concern. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On queue, the blonde jolts again, muttering something that almost sounds like “Stop”. Wilbur tentatively reaches his hand out, barely grazing the boy’s shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy flinches back violently, hands flying to guard his chest, this time slurring an unmistakable “<em>Stop!</em>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will feels his heart sink into his stomach, sending his guts churning with the weight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tommy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The call makes Tommy flinch even harder, voice laced with heart-breaking fear as he whispers a “No,”. Will’s hands sit stagnant by his side, palms open blankly as he racks his brain for <em>something</em> to do, <em>something</em> to make it better. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few seconds of silence pass, and just as Wilbur is about to breathe a sigh of relief, Tommy jumps violently, knee jolting up to guard his stomach, crying a broken whimper and tightening his arms desperately. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop I-” his words are slurred with sleep, but thick with panic, “I don’t,” he flinches again, interrupting himself with another whimper, “I don’t…” Wilbur clenches his hand into a panicked fist, sitting up with a sharp breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want this!” Tommy spits, words breaking feverishly, and Wilbur feels his heart shatter violently, splinters of glass impaling him from the inside out. Before he can think about it, before he can stop himself, Wilbur’s arms are flying to his little brother, wrapping around him desperately. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy jumps at the touch before pausing in confusion. He sits painfully still, eyes still closed, until something seems to click and he collapses weakly into Wilbur’s chest, who breathes a heavy sigh of relief and holds him tighter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly but surely, Tommy’s breath begins to even out, as the piercing blue fades from behind his eyes. And Tommy has never been more grateful to, for the first time in months, dream of nothing. He sighs contentedly, leaning fully against Wilbur as he falls calmly into the darkness.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>im fuckin hungry sorry for this bullshit writing ill proabbly delete this chapter if its as bad as i think it is when i read it with brain juice later on ok bye love you</p><p>pleaaaaaaseeee comment literally every single comment makes my day and yall motivate me to keep writing things that are actually good i love interacting with everyone ssssooooooooooo much </p><p>i promise ill be sane enxt time and have something good for yall love you bye&lt;3</p><p>also follow me on twitter @mushroomcow69 for BANGERS and also fic updates i guess</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. not a chapter pls read</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>HELLLOOO im very sorry this is not a chapter but there is some fuck shit going on in this fandom as of late and i felt the need to state my claim here</p><p>if you do anything any content creators have voiced theyre uncomfortable with after finding out theyre uncomfortable with it, first of all, fuck you, second of all, you disgust me. thats just an overarching statement. </p><p>secondly, the more relevant part to this fic and what i write, if you write or create anything nsfw about tommy or tubbo or ranboo or any other creator who doesnt like that kind of shit, you are whats wrong with this fandom. you are why we are given a bad rep. not only are they FUCKING MINORS, even if they werent, if you create anything about a cc that they have voiced uncomfortableness about you are disrespecting the personal wishes of REAL PEOPLE. they create this content for us, they give us this entertainment and the least we can do is respect them. its basic fucking human decency. respecting their boundaries is the most important part of being a creator in the fandom and if you do nsfw shit about minors or actively ignore the boundaries cc’s have shared for your own sick amusement, from the bottom of my heart you disgust me and please do not read my fics. </p><p>that is all! i might not posts anything in this book for a lil bit because i am currently working really hard on a dnf oneshot but i think thats gonna be really really banger so get excited!!:) love yall&lt;33</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. one more day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>you know the drill by now</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hi so uh first of all, this is the first chapter of this book i've uploaded since joining twitter and shit, so i just wanna say that if you're here from twitter, because you subbed to me out of mutual kindness or for dnf fluff and found this in your email, please don't read it maybe? this book was the first thing i ever posted on ao3, it was the reason i got ao3, and it really has just served to become a diary. this book has existed long long before i even considered turning fanfic into a hobby, and it's helped me wrap my head around alot. and ive been told it helped other people too, which jesus fucking christ is unreal. and if you're looking for good writing ur not gonna find it in this book anyway lol:)</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>to my other people, hi!!! sorry there wasn't much, or really any comfort this chapter, it is in fact 1:30 am and i honestly just dont feel like writing comfort rn lol. this is another song fic! i was super surprised that u guys liked the song fic so much, but im glad u did like it bc music means a lot to me and its one of my favorite things so incoorperate into like,, everything i do lol. also made me very :)) that some of u liked the song alot!! hopefully u like this one too lol. here is the song: <a href="https://youtu.be/kvY53gfDYyY">everything to help you sleep by julien baker</a> :)</p><p>this is so so so short it might as well be a poem, literally just 1 am word vomit i apologize</p><p>as always comments make me oh so warm and fuzzy </p><p>that is all i'll actually write something soon i promise. have a good night/day/morning my loves &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He’s fine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As long as he stays busy and acts normal, he’s fine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As long as he doesn’t think about it, <em>he’s fine</em>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>what is it like to be empty, full of only echoes?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But then there are the moments when he thinks about it. There are the moments when he accidentally opens his school email instead of his personal one, the moments when he catches himself daydreaming of a future, the moments when he sees the disappointment bob at the surface of his parents’ eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And yeah, those moments hurt. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>and my body’s caving in, a cathedral of arching limbs.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But he’s okay with it. He’s okay with living in denial, with spending his days under a rapidly unraveling blanket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because at the end of the day, he can pick up the tattered wool and hold it against his cheek. And if he closes his eyes and pretends hard enough, it’s still a blanket. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>heaving out their broken hymns</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s gotten good at that. Closing his eyes and pretending. If he closes his eyes and pretends hard enough, it’s December again, and everything is normal. If he closes his eyes and pretends hard enough, he didn’t sink past the sunlight. If he closes his eyes and pretends hard enough, he isn’t alone anymore. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>thought I made out your reply, in the seconds between sounds and light</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The thing is that, while <em>everything</em> is different for him, the world around him hasn’t even flinched. He’s still in his childhood home, his posters are still on the walls of his room, the pavement of his front yard is the same as what it was. It feels wrong. It feels like this Tommy, sad and hopeless and burned out oh so young, shouldn’t be in the same space as the Tommy he used to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lives with the ghost of who he was. He sees it pass him in the hallway, he stands with it in the shower, he eats across from it in the kitchen. He walks up to the main street and catches a glimpse of himself swiping into the train station. He steps into his parent’s room and sees himself lying on the bed. He slides into the backseat of the car and sees himself sleeping against the seatbelt, script laid open on his lap as moonlight flickers by the windows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ghost looks so much happier. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ghost has bright skin, and a laugh that comes easy, and hair that’s far too short, and a smile that doesn’t hurt to make. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wishes there was a way he could apologize to it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>and I could’ve sworn the sirens were the holy ghost just speaking in morse code</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wishes there was a way he could meet it’s eyes and lock away the look in them, a way he could tell it how <em>sorry he is</em>, how he didn’t <em>mean</em> to fuck it all up, how he knows he's failed it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wishes he could go back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just for a second. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just for long enough to take a breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thinks he could keep going if he got a breath of fresh air. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>'cause Lord, Lord, Lord, is there some way to make it stop, ‘cause nothing I do has ever helped to turn it off</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He used to escape to the future. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the light at the end of the tunnel, the only thing that kept him marching on. The promise of what would be, the life he’d have if he could <em>just</em> push through. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But there’s no light to push for now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>and everything that used to help me sleep at night, doesn’t help me sleep at night anymore</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The only thing that keeps anyone alive, or going, is the looming solace of change, the knowledge that there’s more to life than this, that there is something waiting at the other end. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t have a future anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that’s not a self deprecation thing, that’s not a nihilist thing, that’s just the truth. And he’s okay with that. He missed his chance. That’s just the reality of it. He could deal with reality, he could accept that he let everything he’d ever want slip through his fingers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But what is there to keep him alive now?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>from a distance, light from stars, entry wounds or puncture marks</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s no hope of better days, there’s no fresh air, there’s no soft blanket, there’s no open scripts or yellow MetroCards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s only him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Jesus Christ, does he hate that guy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>leaking from your arms through the perforated dark</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>People, he supposes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that they made it worth it, or made it better, but at the end of the day, that’s why he stays. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because of people. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>so could you hear from heaven on earth</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Because Tubbo’s laugh makes the bottom of his headphones rumble, because Quackity won’t stop saying ‘innit’, because Jack never fails to greet him with a God-awful Cockney accent. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>if I scream a little louder, I know you would have heard</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Because ever so slightly, ever so subtly, Wilbur's eyes light up each time he joins the call.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>say there’s no way I could be further</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Because Jesus fucking Christ, did he want to go, but one night Will had asked him for ‘one more day’. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he’d said yes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, one more day. </span>

</p><p>
  <span>For Wilbur. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For his people. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>if I scream a little louder, I know you would have heard it.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>its my birthday today lol :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. turn out the lights</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>another sbi meetup but burns (not clickbait)</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hi! firstly, idk if i have to say this again, but if youre like a twitter mutual or friend, or someone who subbed for cute dnf fluff or anything like that, maybe dont read this! it's up to you of course, but this book isnt really good or well thought through writing anyway lol. this book was the first thing i ever posted on ao3, long before i had a twitter or fuckin anything, and it ended up just literally turning into a diary that some people found comfort in for some reason, which is so so crazy to me.  anyway yeah long thing to say this is literally just my diary and maybe isnt the book of mine to read if ur just looking for writing :thumbsup:</p><p> </p><p>my other people,hi!! welcome back!! this was actually a request in comments (onesadfrog my beloved). i usually dont really do requests bc i like to write things on my own terms, but i could not stop thinking abt this concept like all day after they commented it lol. its such a cool idea and it is indeed 1 am so i definitely did not do it justice. </p><p>i know theyre always unedited and unbetaed but i actually did not even read this after i wrote it so i have no fuckin clue what is on that page i apologize in advance</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tommy let out a melodramatic sigh, draping his head back over Techno’s lap like a damsel in distress. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wilbur I </span>
  <em>
    <span>literally </span>
  </em>
  <span>drove like four hours for you and you won’t even give me the </span>
  <em>
    <span>bare necessities</span>
  </em>
  <span>? That I need </span>
  <em>
    <span>to survive</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur scoffed, dropping his head into the junction between his thumb and pointer finger, “I’m not </span>
  <em>
    <span>denying you water</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Tommy, you just want me to get it for you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> From behind Tommy’s head Phil gave a gentle cackle, knees bent into his chest as he curled into the corner of the sofa, more than happy to assume his usual job of watching bemusedly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Remind me why you can’t get your own water, Tommy,” Wilbur exasperated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy glanced up and saw slightly blurred pink strands, swaying ever so slightly in the still air. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, but Wilbur,” he whined, the usual melodramatic puppy dog eyes, “I’m showing affection, Wilbur! Wilbur, this is such a beautiful moment Wilbur, don’t make me get up,” his voice pitched theatrically. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will glanced frantically to Techno, eyes wide in a silent plea. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Leave me out of this, man.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur groaned, dropping his arms onto his chair in defeat, “Fuckin’ fine.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy gave a small few whoops, pulling his elbow into his side in a silent </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like ‘gremlin’, kneeling by the wall and unzipping Tommy’s backpack. He continued to grumble under his breath as he rummaged through the mess of crumpled papers and various food wrappers, before inhaling just short of sharply and falling silent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tommy,” his voice suddenly dropped lower, cautious and unsure, “can I talk to you?” </span>
</p><p><span>The boy let out a ground-shaking groan, throwing his head back again, “No you can’t </span><em><span>talk</span></em> <em><span>to me</span></em><span>, you bitch! I’m-”</span></p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Tommy</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence settled over the room like a thick fog, stagnant and fragile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy stuttered in confusion, eyes flitting between the walls before letting out an uncharacteristically timid, “Yeah, sure.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur rose to his feet, stopping by the front door and beckoning with his pointer finger. Tommy reluctantly followed, swaying on the heels of his feet like it’d earn him time. Will opened the door, letting a gust of dormant night air into the yellow lamp-light of the room. He pulled open the screen door and stepped outside, waiting for Tommy to follow before sliding it shut behind them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The boys settled beside the front door, leaned against peeling blue tiles and guarded only by the placidity of night and low buzz of fireflies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Will,” Tommy muttered, hand reaching to rub at the back of his neck, “what’s up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tommy,” Wilbur began warily, “You’re sixteen, and- and I know that at this… time in your life you have a lot of people surrounding you, around every corner, offering you things or trying to convince you, or some shit.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s brows furrowed in confusion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trust me, I,” the brunette huffed a resigned laugh, “I did </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>that shit when I was your age. It’s the norm, and It’s what’s expected, but it’s…” he fell silent again. Tommy listened to the hum of dusty porch lamps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re sixteen, Tommy</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With this, Wilbur brought his arm up from his side, unfolding his hand to reveal a small red lighter in the center of his palm. The moonlight danced against the worn out plastic and shimmered on the smooth metal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Tommy could stop himself his hand was jutting out, grabbing the lighter from Wilbur’s palm almost protectivally. He ran his thumb over the coil, movement all too natural, the familiarity of cool metal and rough ridges all too soothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, don’t worry, Will,” he was speaking before the words could get through his cognitive filters, “It’s not for, like, smoking or anything.” The blonde said it like a casual reassurance, like an easily given explanation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur’s mouth fell open in thought before perplexedly murmuring, “Then what is it for?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s for,” Tommy shrugged bashfully and pointed vaguely to his wrist, “y’know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” Wilbur drawled in complete confusion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s eyes furrowed in confusion, like he couldn’t understand how Will </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t get it</span>
  </em>
  <span>. After a few seconds they widened in understanding, followed instantly by widening again in panic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing,” he scrambled to cover, “It’s for drugs. It’s for drugs, and weed, and… cigars,” the sentence trailed off pathetically into a feeble question. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>An entirely new wave of concern fell over Will’s eyes, dark and unsure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tommy…” he whispered, “what’s the lighter for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy looked down to his feet in silence, fingers fidgeting anxiously at his sides. The gentle hum of night surrounded him, enclosing but not confining. He wasn’t sure if they were fireflies or crickets now. Maybe both. Night stood at his side like a dog, tired but loyal, overwhelming but soothing. Darkness brought a calm that day could never offer. The feeling of being alone at night, however untrue, made his guards fall before he even realized, his usually unbearingly tight lungs opening up in gentle anticipation of cool midnight air. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy felt his nerves try to flinch as Wilbur gently took him by the wrist, but he didn’t. He just let the older take his arm between cautious fingers, flip it over and rub small circles into the fabric of his sweatshirt. He felt Will’s eyes survey his sleeve, felt the thoughts running rampant behind them, the curiosity and concern almost burning a hole through thick polyester. He felt Wilbur catch on. He heard the sharp inhale that followed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You could’ve come to me,” the brunette whispered after a few more seconds of heavy, loaded silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy didn’t answer, eyes silently locked on uneven pavement below him. He watched as the pavement began to blur, tears welling in the corner of his eyes despite his desperate efforts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All hope of hiding it slinked away once the boy felt his shoulders hitch up, far too sudden for Wil to miss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then there were warm arms around him, tight and soft and enclosing but not confining. Tommy felt his shoulders drop, he felt his head fall into the crook of Wilbur’s shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His sweater smelled like safety and chamomile, and he radiated warmth, and god was Tommy more than happy to sit and revel in this hug and save the thinking for later. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then there were fingers running gently through his hair, and he could just barely hear a low whisper of “It’s okay,” from above him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he was crying. Not smudged pavement crying, shoulders heaving crying. He was shoulders heaving crying into Wilbur’s shoulder, and Will didn’t even react. He just kept running his hand through Tommy’s hair, kept whispering lowly and kindly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Tommy could feel the words form in Wilbur’s chest, he could feel the air they blew out in his hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur didn’t stop when Tommy’s arms tightened, he didn’t stop when crying turned to sobbing, he didn’t stop when sobbing finally turned to rough breaths. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He just stood there, ever stable, a </span>
  <em>
    <span>literal </span>
  </em>
  <span>rock for Tommy to lean on, whispering the same two words over and over without complaint, without hesitance, as many times as the boy needed to hear them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And when rough breaths finally turned smooth, Tommy pulled back from his pseudo-brother and wiped his eyes onto the cuff of his sweatshirt. He didn’t look up to the older, he didn’t make eye contact, but Wilbur waited until he gathered himself and began to walk towards the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just before the boy reached for the handle, Wilbur called out kindly, almost apologetically, and waited for red eyes to meet his. “Tommy,” he put hand out, palm up, “lighter.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy ran his thumb over the coil one last time before sighing resignedly and dropping red plastic into a gentle hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.” </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>comments literally make my entire day and week ily all</p><p>OH ALSO the title to this chapter is a song. i really really doubt anyone gives a shit but if u for some reason are interested, turn out the lights by julien baker is what i listened to while writing this:))) its a really beautiful song would reccomend </p><p>ok that is all goodnight see u next time &lt;3</p><p>
  <a href="twitter.com/mushroomcow69">hi this is me smile</a>
</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. new chapter!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>hello the next chapter is a two parter so i posted it as an individual story but i figured the people subscribed to this book would probably want to know of that anyway LOL</p><p>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30973814/chapters/76500146</p><p>&lt;33</p>
  </div></div>
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